Forbidden Fates
by Fanfic Lover 4evr
Summary: Dr. Jonathon Crane managed to break free from the Scarecrow's shadow and has started a life away from perils of Gotham. Along the way he managed to become a man worth saving, but in a turn of events has been swept back into Bruce Wayne's darkening life.
1. Meeting The Prude

**Disclaimer**: I don't own this, nor will I own the second or third movies that are going to complete the Batman Begins trilogy. I'm just borrowing these characters cause I loved the movie and my muse won't leave me alone!

**Summary**: Dr. Jonathon Crane managed to break free from the Scarecrows shadow and has started a life away from perils of Gotham. Along the way he managed to cloak himself from the Bat and became a man worth saving... but in a turn of events has been swept back into Bruce Wayne's life, a life he hoped to leave behind.

**Author Shpill**: I got curious, and I know this story is kinda out there, but I thought it was an interesting plot to go for so Viola! I tried to put Bruce and Jonathon into character, but they are coming off a little soft. I do hope to make them both a little darker as the chapters go on... but you never know.

Ooh, P.S... I don't have a BETA so the spelling errors and such are from me... they're aren't intentional but what can you do right?

Enjoy numero uno!

* * *

Dr. Jonathon Crane looked up to the clouded sky and sighed in annoyance. Today he had wanted to read outside and enjoy the sunny day, but looked as if there would be no such luck on this dreary Monday… and Jonathon did hate Monday's. 

The man straightened his glasses and glanced back at the museum behind him. He'd begun work there several months back after escaping Arkham asylum, fleeing from Batman and Gotham. But the part of him that still fought to remain with the light side rather than the shadows that threatened to consume his soul knew that he was running away from the Scarecrow, not the Bat.

He'd successfully changed his identity, cutting his dark locks and dimming his blue eyes with colored contacts, he was a free man and he intended to make a new life for himself away from the tortured soul that was once known as Dr. Jonathon Crane.

Jonathon had settled himself in a nice home, a mansion; some distasteful people had put it. But the Old Dr. had admired it because of how blocked off it was from the world. He was alone to do as he pleased when he was there of course with the exception of his staff that cleaned and cooked for him.

He ran the museum, becoming a curator of sorts, and he tried to not let it bother him that Bruce Wayne was a main donor for the facility and he sometimes flew all that way to check up on the place. Jonathon would inconspicuously disappear when he was there of course, allowing his highly trained staff to show off the grounds to him.

It confused Jonathon, or as he is known now, Johnny Cuthbert why the fact that while _Batman _was in such a close distance didn't bother him. It honestly didn't, Johnny Cuthbert felt perfectly calm about the whole ordeal while Jonathon Crane wanted to vomit. He truly did have _too _many personalities.

The curator had fled the museum, knowing that today was one of the Billionaires dreaded visits to the institution and he had gratefully left the responsibilities in his staff's hands. His employees were actually naïve enough to believe that he always left to test them on their capabilities in navigating the place to a man such as _Bruce Wayne_. This thought was always a good excuse for Johnny to disappear for a while, so he allowed them to believe it.

But today it seemed that Jonathon Crane's horrible karma wanted to bite back… hard.

"Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!" an annoyingly high pitched feminine voice shrilled from behind the man.

John spun around to see one of his head staff, Emily Gardener waving frantically at him. With a pounding heart John realized that Bruce Wayne was walking beside her, both coming towards him at a relaxed pace.

"Mrs. Gardener…" John greeted with a pained voice. "I hope the tour is going well…"

"Oh of course," the woman babbled as she came to stop in front of him. "But Mr. Wayne here wanted to meet the head curator that turned this museum around and made it so… lively."

John winced at her term for all he had done for this museum. He'd slaved away, losing many hours of sleep to turn such a dreadful place into something to be proud of. In all honesty upon his arrival to the city, John had thought about robbing the place, but after deciding to settle in the area, he had given up on his old ways… or at least tucked them away.

"Oh…" John stuck out his hand and the billionaire smiled at him, almost curiously and took his hand, shaking it roughly.

Bruce studied the curator, his mind recognizing something about the man. He couldn't quite place his finger on it… "You look so familiar Mr. Cuthbert, have I met you before?"

John nodded. "You've been here a couple of times in the past few months to see the changes. I'm sure we would have to have met in that time span."

Bruce's face remained expressionless. "No, I don't believe that's it…"

"Perhaps I'm just one of those people with a familiar face then," John tried to cover up his nervousness be making up more excuses as well as lies.

Bruce decided to let it go for now, but promised his other half to checking up on the man when he returned home to Gotham. "You've done a fine job Mr. Cuthbert," Bruce admired falsely.

John almost snorted. He could tell Bruce was lying, this place was one in hundreds… probably thousands of places he's funded and had to attend on orders of his publicist. "We're all proud here. But I'm sure a busy man such as yourself doesn't have the time to admire such things."

Emily coughed in surprise, her face turning a light shade of pink at her bosses insult to one of the richest men in the world.

An amused glare was shone from Bruce Wayne's usually masked face. "I assure you Mr. _Cuthbert_ that even though I am busy, I still have the time to enjoy old art upon other things."

"Perhaps," John agreed. "It was nice meeting you, but if you'll excuse me, I 0have other things to attend to."

Bruce nodded and ignored the woman who seemed to be in shock from the way her boss was acting around him. "Actually, I wanted to speak with you about a fundraiser I'm throwing for several museums Wayne Enterprises is funding. Hopefully you'll attend; it is of course exceptional if you decided not to attend anyway."

John cringed slightly, dread filling him. "This fundraiser will be in Gotham?"

"Of course," Bruce smiled as he confirmed. Emily had been gracious enough to tell him how much the head curator hated Gotham and it almost made him feel better about Cuthbert's insult by inviting the annoying curator to the place he disliked immensely.

"I'll be there," John agreed.

Bruce's smile widened. "Its in a week, I'll see you there Mr. Cuthbert."

John didn't say a word as he turned and began walking away. He couldn't help but to hear as Emily began talking about the crime and he decided to casually eves drop on the conversation.

"Crime is becoming less of problem," Bruce informed her casually.

"Oh that Joker guy… ooh he just gives me the creeps. Didn't that Scarecrow guy disappear a few months ago?"

Bruce nodded uncomfortably; he'd just been reminded of the one man that had managed to stay away from all crime, the man that had also managed to slip away from Batman. "That's right."

"I bet Batman killed him," Emily reasoned.

John rolled his eyes; Batman was too merciful to kill him anyway, something like that would only happen on accident. Besides, part of Batman honed that dark side, was a part of that shadowy realm that almost forces a man to become so vile and vicious.

"Why do you think that?" Bruce asked, trying to contain his anger.

"Everyone knows that the Scarecrow grated on that spandex wearing freak anyway. He's not a savior; he's just blinded all of Gotham…"

Bruce couldn't take anymore. "I should be going Mrs. Gardener. It was nice to meet you." And with that Bruce walked away with his bodyguards. Alfred would be waiting at the airport, and he'd be able to vent about today. The curator who had the audacity to tell him he didn't understand the finer arts, and the annoying woman who believes Batman is as much of a criminal as the Scarecrow.

John just shook his head. He had to admit that he was mildly impressed with how much control Bruce Wayne had over his actions. If Scarecrow still had Jonathon by the lapels than he probably wouldn't have had the control to not kill her. But as it were, John was satisfied to know that he now had enough control to walk away just as the billionaire had.

* * *

**Six Days Later In Gotham:**

John entered the finely decorated hotel and tried to hide his disgust. These people really were too petty with women flocking around with diamonds dangling from their ears and jewels decorating their priceless necklaces, no wonder these people were targeted by villains like Mr. Freeze, the Riddler along with Two-Face.

The once terrorist of Gotham walked up to the front desk and eyed the man in the sharp looking suit with mild displeasure.

"How may I help you sir?" the man asked with a fake smile plastering his face.

John fought not to roll his eyes at the fake cheeriness. "I'm Johnny Cuthbert, I have a reservation…"

"Oh yes," the clerk interrupted with a hint of excitement in his voice. "Mr. Wayne was here earlier to upgrade your room. You'll be staying in the presidential suite."

A growl erupted from John's throat and he glared maliciously at the clerk. "Is that so? Did mister Wayne happen to say why he would do such a thing?"

The man smiled and shook his head. "No, I'm afraid he didn't. But he did leave you this note," the man finished and handed over a piece of paper with black ink writing covering it.

John took the note, adjusted his glassed and read.

_Here is to the finer things Mr. Cuthbert enjoy your room._

_Damn that man_, John thought as he crumpled the piece of paper in his fist. "I would like to change my room back to where it was."

The clerk shook his head. "I'm afraid that isn't possibly Mr. Cuthbert. Mister Wayne bought them all out for the other curators that are here for the fundraiser tomorrow…"

John shook his head. His karma sure liked to screw with him lately. "Thanks anyway."

The clerk nodded. "The bellhop will have your bags up to your room immediately if you'd like to go up and check it out. I'm sure you'll find it adequate to your taste sir."

"Of course," John faked the cheery conversation. "Which room was it?"

"That would be room 246 sir," the clerk informed and handed John the card to open the door.

"Thank you," John said, not forgetting his manors even though his mood had changed darkly. The man turned and walked to the elevators, wondering if his day would sprout any more unpleasant surprises.

"Oh!" the clerk shouted from the desk. "Mr. Wayne will be here at 1:00. He would like you meet him for lunch in the dining hall."

"Shit," John muttered as the doors closed.

* * *

TBC... helpful criticism is always nice, and I would love to hear from people who enjoyed the first part! 


	2. Confrontation

Hey Y'all! I'm back!

**To The Reviewers:**

**saiyuki123:** I'm glad you liked the beginning and I hope that this chapter will please you too :) Thanks for the review!

**nina: **I love Johnathon Crane stories too! Although I'm not too crazy about the Mary-Sue's that are in the Batman Begins section. I like to use original characters even though sometimes you can't help but to create your own... anyway, I hope to make John's contacts go away in the near future. I hope you like this chapter! Thanks for the review!

**neosavvy:** John was one of my favorite characters in the movie too, and I love to read stories about him here so I thought I'd add to the pile. And I'm currently working on John's identity being exposed... but I can't say too much or it will ruin the surprise. Thanks for the review and I hope you'll like this chapter as well!

**Author Notes**: Perhaps this chapter was a little fast paced, but I was facing a sort of writers block. I did as best as I could... and I hope that will be enough for now :)

Enjoy: Read On!

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Jonathon yawned into the palm of his hand, and then quickly rubbed at his tiring eyes. He lazily check his wristwatch and tried desperately to forget that he was late for the supposed lunch he was scheduled to have with _Bruce Wayne. _

He had come up to his beautiful room and had fought to not scream and tear the room to pieces. Here he was, trying to be a respectable man and Bruce Wayne had to come and flaunt his money around and degrade his social status.

Jonathon had paced the room to calm down, and had resorted to diving into one of his many novels. Many of his employees had told him that he had such a strange taste in books. John had disagreed, claiming that his taste wasn't _strange_; he just had a broader range of things he could tolerate in reading materials.

The man would read practically anything. Books decorated much of his home; most of them were the boring factual books that no one ever cared to read for fear of dying from boredom. John preferred to intellectual about those things. But his second favorite genre happened to be books of mystery, adventure, and _some _romance, the cliché good-guy VS bad-guy. Hero gets the girl while the bad guy was either catered off to a dark prison or had died a horrible death in the last mêlée.

John always tried to tear the books apart from a psychologists view; he tried to make it seem more realistic. He knew that in real life the hero couldn't _always win_, and in fact, the hero would often end up being darker on the inside than the actual criminal the hero is trying to imprison.

The ex Dr. hated how the villain was portrayed. As if the man bringing torment to a town was born evil. These writers were so one-sided, not understanding that it takes many events through a bad upraising, and constant abuse from those around them to change them into something evil and merciless.

So now Jonathon Crane or rather _Johnny Cuthbert_ was delved head first into his latest novel, _'The Beacon of Darkness.'_ The title didn't do the book justice, John had decided after reading the first chapter… but it did have man euphemisms, and analogies that he could enjoy through his own experience.

This book was allowing him to get through the hours of being in Gotham again rather painlessly. All he had to do was focus on what he was reading, perhaps write a few notes down on things that he didn't like in the book, critiquing everything he read had become more of routine, somewhere to disagree with something that seemed to be set in stone. Maybe it was journal, and that's why it remained private.

John's attention was pulled from the book when he heard a knocking at the door.

The man blanched, he knew in his gut that the person he didn't ever want to see again was standing behind the wooden blockade.

John held his breath and realized childishly that even a man like Bruce Wayne wouldn't be able to hear him breathing through the door… could he?

"Mr. Cuthbert, are you in there?"

Oh yeah, it was Batman alright… but his other half.

Despite John's better judgment, he opened his mouth. "Uh, hold on a moment…"

There wasn't an answer, leading John to suspect that Bruce would just be standing there and waiting patiently.

The man made sure to put his bookmark to where he had left off and lazily crawled off of the bed. He set the hardbound book on the nightstand table next to the bed, and buttoned up the rest of his shirt to at least look a little presentable.

"Can I help you… ah Mr. Wayne," John spoke through a halfway opened door.

Bruce stood in a grey suit, with his usual smirk covering his face. The billionaire took in disarrayed look of the curator. "Rough flight?"

John set his lips to a thin smile. "Something like that."

"Didn't the clerk up front tell you I…"

"Oh yes," John began, he needed to think of a good lie to cover up his absence. "I fell asleep, you know, jetlag and all."

Bruce nodded in mock understanding. "Of course. Sometimes I forget how hard it is for people who don't travel often to adjust to changes."

John could feel his eye twitching at the remark. "Well, not all people have the kind of money you do Mr. Wayne to do delve in such things. Besides there really isn't a reason for me to be traveling places, I'm quite content with where I am now." He couldn't help but to smile at the muscle that jumped in Bruce's jaw at the money remark.

Score:

Bruce Wayne: 1

Johnny Cuthbert aka, Crane: 2

Bruce's current expression showed clearly that he wasn't amused. "The offer is still open," he blurted.

John raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Bruce shrugged. "I suppose it's more to redeem my publicity with your museum."

Confusion shone on John's light face. "Excuse me? I don't believe I understand."

"Well, our little argument was on the nine-o-clock news when I returned home. And to my publicist's dismay, some people believed I attacked your conservative way of life."

John's expression darkened. "Oh… that explains a lot. Well I'm sorry, but I won't be the one to redeem your browning points with Gotham. Have a nice day Mr. Wayne."

John began shutting the door, but Bruce slithered his foot in between it and wouldn't let it close.

"What are you doing?" John nearly shouted. He glared at the man who was looking at him with an annoyed expression on his face.

"I'm trying to make an effort here," Bruce defended.

John shook his head in disbelief. "That's a joke right? You just admitted that you're here to salvage your reputation, not to show a gesture of peace!"

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, stepped back a few paces, and looked at the scathing man. "Look, I don't do this often alright? I don't even know why I agreed to come down here in the first place. You bother me, alright? You're the one acting like you're smarter than everyone else."

John snorted. "I _am_ smarter than most people."

Bruce grunted in annoyance. "See, _that's_ what I mean. I'm the one with all the money, but it's _you _who's being snobby."

John remained silent. As much as he hated it, the fact of the matter was that he did boast about is intelligence… "Fine. You've made your point, you can leave now. I'll even do you a favor and tell the local newspaper that you're really a great guy. Go back to your money and slutty women and leave me alone!" John managed to slam the door in Bruce's face.

The curator was on his way back to the bed when a loud crash came from the door as it flew open with a furious Bruce standing there, breathing hard. The Dr. stared with wide eyes, not sure how to react and almost certain that the CEO of Wayne Enterprises was going to kill him.

Before John could even blink again Bruce was standing right in front of him, face to face. Bruce grabbed John by the lapels and pulled him so close that they could feel each others breath.

"I've wanted to do this ever since the first day I met you," Bruce spat, then pulled back with one hand and thrust it forward, making precise contact with John's soft cheek and sending his head cracking backward.

John grunted and fell backward onto the floor as he was released. He rubbed at his sore cheek for moments, refusing to luck and look into the anger filled eyes above him. "You've got one hell of a right hook," he muttered bitterly. In seconds he was back on his feet and pushing Bruce backward as hard as he could, slamming the billionaire up against the opposite wall. He proceeded to punch Bruce as hard as his fist would permit and much to his dismay, Bruce let out a breathy laugh.

"Why are you laughing?"

Bruce's expression was nothing short of being amused. "You hit like a woman."

"Street fighting was never one of my stronger suits," John agreed.

"I can imagine," Bruce began. "Feel better?"

John rolled his eyes at the sarcasm and stretched his jaw. "No. You?"

"Always." Bruce grinned, clearly satisfied with the damage he'd done to John's face.

"Good, you can leave now… but it would be nice if you sent someone up to fix my door," John told him and walked over to the door to inspect the damage.

"It's not that bad, I just knocked it off its hinges." Bruce went to work to put the door back into working condition. After a few minutes of pounding and kicking at the metal pieces he shut the door and opened it again to check his work. "See. All done."

"You've done this before I see. At least I know now it's a bad idea to slam doors in your face. And by the way, you should really find another way to take your anger out…"

"I'm sorry about hitting you.".

"No you aren't." John accused with an eyebrow then shook his head. "Besides, I was talking about the door."

"So the good museum curator _can _crack a joke. Nice," Bruce complimented. "And here I thought you were an old dried up prune."

"We're not getting back on this subject again are we?"

Bruce shrugged. "I guess it is a bad topic. Besides, I wouldn't want to hit you again…"

"I think coming here for the fundraiser was a bad idea… maybe I'll go home. I'm sure there's absolute chaos in the museum," John reasoned.

The billionaire looked uncomfortable again. "It would be kind of pointless to leave now. The fundraiser is tomorrow… and you're already here."

"True, but I don't need to show up tomorrow with a questioning bruise on my face," John explained as he rubbed softly at the sore skin.

"If that's what you're worried about, you can just go get some foundation to cover it…"

"Makeup?" John asked in exasperation.

"Oh suck it up, Jonathon."

John froze. "What did you call me?"

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows. "Jonathon? Is that not right… I assumed that Johnny is short for Jonathon."

The dark haired man let out a breath. "Oh… it is, it's just that no one calls me that anymore."

"You're a strange man."

John narrowed his eyes. "Thanks," he spat sarcastically.

Bruce was looking at him, almost as if he was realizing something.

"What?"

"You remind me of someone is all," Bruce confided.

"You wouldn't believe how many people say that," John lied. He shifted uncomfortably and chose to look down at the floor, deciding that it was more interesting than his current company.

"I should be leaving… but don't leave on my account. I can usually hold my temper better than that."

"What can I say," John began. "I just bring out the worst in people."

Bruce sighed. "That's not what I meant…"

"I know. It was joke Mr. Wayne. I'll be here tomorrow, and I suppose I'll see you at the fundraiser," explained John.

Bruce let out a breathy laugh. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

The man was gone and John was alone again. This little meeting had been strange to say the least; he hadn't expected to be called out like that. He couldn't help his personality, he was raised to be smarter than the average man… you'd think that someone like Bruce Wayne would be able to understand that.

John shook his head. He was tired and decided that he'd think more clearly about the events after he took a nap. He turned out the lights and was asleep in minutes.

* * *

TBC... let's see how much chaos with come with the next chapter... 


	3. Ballroom Thunder

Hey! I'm back, and I'm so sorry it took me longer than I'd hoped to get chapter three back up, I hope you'll forgive me!

**To The Reviewers:**

**nina**: Truth be told, I enjoyed having the boys rough each other up a bit... okay so it was more Bruce that John, but you know what I mean. And hopefully you'll enjoy were their relationship his headed... thanks for your review!

**anonymous**: You'll have to wait and see where this is all headed. But it will be an explosion when Bruce finds out about John's little secret...

**neosavy**: Those two boys are complicated aren't they? They just aren't liking each other at the moment... but maybe that will change soon... anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you'll enjoy this one too!

**saphirefox-irl**: I'm glad you enjoyed it! And never fear, chapter three is finally here!

**Warnings**: There is some violence in that chapter, but nothing graphic, so no worries... it'll get more violent in later chapters anyway so this should be a breeze... lol!

* * *

**Chapter Three**

* * *

Jonathon Crane was sidled up against a wall in the ballroom, where so many people had cumulated, leaving the curator feeling a bit claustrophobic.

The band was dreadful, the noise made his head feel as if it was going to explode. The wiser part of him told him to stand there until Bruce Wayne acknowledged that he was there so he could rub it in that he wasn't a coward that said he was going to leave after being sucker punched by the man the day before.

People he didn't know had cornered him and pulled him into a discussion about why he'd been invited to the billionaire's fundraiser. After calmly explaining he was just a curator, they'd lost immediate interest and had left him to stand by himself to view all of the vain guests.

"You came," a deep voice flowed over the bands newest song and right into John's ears.

John raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes at the billionaire who was now standing beside him. "I told you I wasn't leaving didn't I?"

"Not really," Bruce began. "And it looks like you didn't take my advice about the makeup."

John lifted a hand and rubbed the bruise at the bottom of his chin self-consciously. "No, I've just been telling everyone I was mugged."

Bruce let out and amused chuckle and looked closer at the bruise. "I didn't think I hit you _that _hard, and seeing that this is Gotham, it wouldn't be anything new to be mugged."

"True," John shrugged. "But I suppose I bruise a little too easily."

Bruce nodded his head. "It's probably a good thing that you don't live in Gotham."

Dulled blue eyes gazed confusedly at brown ones. "What is that supposed to mean exactly?"

"I just mean that Gotham is such a tough place, you'd probably end up being mugged and killed anyway," Bruce mocked.

John narrowed his eyes and took the hopeless teasing as an insult. "I use to live in Gotham you know…" John began and instantly regretted it as he gave more insight about his former self. "Besides, I'm sure that _Batman_ would rescue me anyway."

Bruce coughed to cover is discomfort. "He would, wouldn't he?"

John shrugged again. "Nah, he'd save some drama queen in distress. Not some boring old curator, but he isn't required to be selfless all the time."

Bruce glanced at him, and then back towards the crowd. Every so often, guests would look over to the two and then go about whispering things into each others ears. _What was this? High school?_

"I'll be happy when this horrible week is over," John muttered under his breath. Unaware that Bruce could hear him.

Bruce smiled slightly, it almost looked like a grimace. "Me too."

John's face shone pure shock at being heard, but the mask was back and quickly covering John with an expressionless face.

The music started over once again and John held down a grown of irritation. "Maybe I should go now…"

"We've made a lot of money tonight," Bruce told him.

"Good I was hoping to buy some vintage books from Cairo and the board of chairman keeps turning me down…"

"Books?"

John was taken back and turned angry eyes to the billionaire. "What's wrong with books?"

"You really _are_ boring aren't you?"

John growled from deep within his throat. "Go to hell you rich bastard. Just because you have no class and couldn't tell the difference between vintage art and a garbage sale, doesn't mean we all suffer the same fate."

Bruce looked more than insulted, but enjoyed the angry response he was getting out of the curator. It served him sometimes to be able to push someone's buttons and aggravate them to the point of violence. Johnny Cuthbert was livelier than he was wiling to admit to, but maybe if he were able to help the man explode… it could lead to something... maybe give him insight to the mysterious man's past.

But alas, the billionaire wasn't able to respond before an enormous boom made the room shake.

Guests screamed and clutched at their heads, dropping to the ground to protect themselves from the falling debris.

"Everyone down!" a deep voice yelled through the hazy smoke.

The cloud of dust settled, having covered everyone. Men stood grinning menacingly at the crowd, holding guns that could easily kill any one of them.

"I said GET DOWN!" the masked man hollered to the people that had managed to remain on their feet during the commotion.

John looked over to Bruce who was boring holes into the men. "I wonder if anyone has Batman's number," the badly timed joke was whispered to Bruce as the curator slid down the wall to accommodate the men with guns. The curator was more than aware that Bruce was aching to leave the room to turn into his alter-ego and save the day…but it look like they were being watched too closely to escape the room.

"Now," the robber began. "If you would take off your jewels, watches, and hand over your wallets we can be out of your hair in no time."

John rolled his eyes. These morons had absolutely no class when it came to robbery, and he knew they their lack of knowledge would be their downfall. Anyone could walk into a situation with a gun, but that didn't mean they'd be leaving any richer than when they'd come.

"How cliché," the curator commented. He looked over to where Bruce had been standing and gaped at the empty space. "You sly bastard," he laughed.

It looked like Batman _would _be making his grand entrance after all.

Moments passed and the amateurs had damn near cleaned out the entire room. One of their last stops just so happened to be the curator who would refuse indefinitely.

"Hand over your watch and wallet," the man ordered as he trained the gun on John.

"Excuse me?" John asked. He wasn't giving over the watch _or_ wallet; the watch was an expensive little bugger he'd stolen from his Scarecrow days.

"You heard me," the man rebuked.

John looked down at his watch.

"It isn't worth your life kid," an older man sitting next to him on the floor whispered.

"Listen to the old man," the robber advised.

John decided to remain difficult and shook his head in defiance. "Screw you."

People gasped and covered their mouths and they watched on, knowing that the young curator would be getting a definite punishment for being difficult.

John certainly wasn't prepared when the butt of the gun was slammed again the side of his head, knocking him over to his side.

The young man was pulled to his feet and slammed against the wall. "If I were you I would have listened to the old man."

John fought back a moan of pain from both his head and back. He remained stoic and glared silently at the man before him.

The man in front of John snarled and moved his hands quickly to John's throat. He squeezed, and his hands couldn't be pried from John's throat when John tried to feebly remove them. The robber just grinned manically as John gagged against the abrupt close-off to his windpipe.

"Let him go," a chilling voice growled from behind the robber.

John could only stare at the Bat as his eyes began to cloud over from the lack of oxygen. His hands remained strongly at the robber's hand, just too weak to pry it off.

Gunshots exploded through the room, causing the dust to rise again as well as the guests to scatter and find a hiding place.

Batman still stood without a single scratch, a scowl covering his face.

Black dots were consuming John's vision, and soon all he could hear was the blood pulsing through his body. He couldn't believe that this guy still refused to let go.

Batman had taken advantage of the chaotic moment and soon detained every single robber except the one who was now using John as a human shield, hand still wrapped around the curators throat, and his gun at John's bleeding temple.

"You're going to make this more painful for yourself," Batman explained.

"Back off or I'll blow his brains out!"

Batman let out a sound of disgust. "Let him go." He knew by the greyness of John's face, and the increasing blue of the curator's lips that he was running out of time and he needed to make a move to save an innocent.

The robber laughed disbelievingly. "Yeah right!"

Before the man could make another move, Batman had something out of his belt and across the air to wrap around the robbers throat. It caused the man to instantly drop John, and straggle to pull off the tight wire from around his neck so he could breathe.

"It's not so fun being suffocated now isn't it?" Batman snarled down at the helpless robber. Batman waited for the man to lose consciousness before removing the wire he often used to scale buildings with. He ignored the crowds cheering and moved to see if the curator was still breathing.

John's eyelids opened, and his eyes rolled around dazedly.

"Can you hear me sir?" a deep voice asked from above.

John's eyes rolled to look at the Bat and he began laughing almost hysterically. "I hate Gotham," he whispered raggedly before his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

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TBC... I'd like to hear what ya'll thought! Hit me up with a comment... 


	4. Hospital Fights

I'm back, and before you all start throwing tomatoes at me... I... wait... I don't have any excuses... bring on the tomatoes!

But I do have the next installment... so if you wanna read it then go ahead...

Warnings: A little Bruce and John violence again... those two need leashes or something...

Enjoy:

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John rubbed at his throat for what seemed the millionth time in the last few minutes. He'd awoken in a cacophony of chaos that seemed to surround him. Nurse and doctors on either side screaming stats or other prattle back to one another.

The antiseptic smell had tipped him off to his arrival at the hospital. One of which he remembered visiting often when one of his clients would end up there after a skirmish with whoever was running the streets for the week.

All in all, he allowed himself to swallow down the mistrust he felt towards the strangers. He knew every man had a price, and realized that any one of these doctors could be being paid off on other outside influences.

With a grogginess that seemed to penetrate into his bones, John allowed his mind to wander. His eyes rolled up and around the examination room curiously, though every once and a while someone with incredibly horrible manners would grab at his eyelids and shine a bright penlight into his blue irises.

His mind was muddled at best. The fogginess caused a panic within him, almost as if he'd lose control of his actions and never be able to regain them again… much like last time. He'd only just barely managed to regain some sense of composure a few short months ago.

"Do you know where you're at?" A strong voice asked.

John decided it was time to try and regain his bearings. "A hospital?" he asked attentively. His weak and hoarse voice sounded strange to him, like he sounded worn out and just a bit older than his years.

"Very good," the voice approved. "How about you tell me what day it is?"

There was a pause and John knew whoever it was, was still waiting for his answer. It dawned on John that he hadn't the slightest idea to what day it was… so he guessed. "Um… Tuesday?"

The man above him clucked, not liking the answer he received. "Alright Mr. … Cuthbert. We'll be settling you into a room momentarily. We would like to monitor you for the rest of the night; your concussion is a little worrisome. Other than that your throat will be sore for a little while."

John didn't bother thanking the man; he wasn't in the mood for talking anyway. He looked down at himself and grimaced at the standard hospital gown. Blue polka dots were definitely not his style.

"Mr. Cuthbert?" a young nurse asked, with her head poking inside the door.

He glanced up curiously and gave her his attention. "You have a visitor," she explained with a sheepish smile.

In that moment John knew who it was, after all, no other man on the face of the earth could get a woman's face to turn that red. The billionaire was there, perhaps to finish the job.

"Alright." He watched the door for a moment until a shape moved into the light. "Mr. Wayne," he acknowledged in fake surprise.

"Jonathon," Bruce greeted as he entered the small room. He looked around and regarded the bleak room with distaste. "They were all out of presidential rooms or something?"

The corner of John's mouth twitched at the poor humor. "Afraid so," John sighed regretfully, joining the theatrics for a moment. "And don't call me _Jonathon_… it's so… formal."

"I'm here to apologize," Bruce told him seriously as he took a seat in an uncomfortable plastic chair next to John's bed.

"Again?" John asked with sarcasm in his voice. "Whatever for?" John knew what Bruce was playing at, and he sure as hell wasn't going to call him out on it.

"For the fundraiser," Bruce began.

John watched the man as he searched for the right words. He seemed a little out of it, almost as if he wised up to something. "I brought it on myself. There's no need for you to rebuild your reputation Mr. Wayne, you're not the one at fault here."

"I'm not trying to improve my reputation," Bruce seethed and shook his in annoyance at the impossible man. "It shouldn't have happened."

John rolled his eyes at the hint of self-loathing he caught in Bruce Wayne's voice. "You can control robbers and murderers just as well as you can control the weather. Besides _Batman _saved me."

John watched in morbid fascination as a small smile graced Bruce's face.

"I must have missed it."

John snorted and shrugged. "Too bad, everyone else witnessed it."

They moved into an uncomfortable silence after that, forcing John into his thoughts and out of reality. It was moments later that another penlight was in his eyes and someone was slapping his cheek.

"You can stop slapping me now." John slapped away the doctor's hand and looked over at Bruce had grown a little paler. John looked around and saw that his room seemed to have grown a small crowd. "What?"

"You gave us quite a scare," the doctor supplied as he checked the machines John was hooked up to. "Mr. Wayne here couldn't get you to respond."

John looked thoughtfully over at Bruce and shrugged. "I zone out. It's genetic."

The joke seemed to fly out and die as Bruce raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. "Is that so?"

John just shot him a look and turned back to his doctor. "I won't need to stay the night. I'm feeling much better and I have a museum to attend to."

The doctor looked taken back and a spark of annoyance sprang to his eyes. "Mr. Cuthbert… I don't think that's such a good idea, you were barely conscious when you were brought here. It's only been a few hours…"

"Then I suppose I'll be signing out AMA," John said as he began pulling the monitors from his body.

"AMA?" Bruce looked up at the doctor with question in his dark eyes.

"Against. Medical. Advice." The doctor supplied. The man began clucking with his tongue again as he watched John's stubbornness in action.

"Sit down Jonathon."

That voice stopped John cold. Bruce was using his _Batman_ voice and lord did he hate the way it sent a chill up his spine. "You have no right to order me around!" John barked when he finally found his voice.

"If you didn't insist on acting like a jackass then I wouldn't have to," Bruce shot back.

This doctor seemed smart by stepping backwards and out of the room, closing the door as he went, to give the two some privacy during their bitch-out match.

"I'm the jackass?" John spluttered in disbelief while he stood up so he was face to face with Bruce. "You're the rich bastard!"

A growl erupted from the deep confines of Bruce's and before John could blink, Bruce had him slammed into the closed door.

A muted moan almost forced its way out of John's mouth as the pain in his back was re-ignited. He watched as the rage drained from Bruce's eyes and extremities.

The billionaire slowly released his grip on John's shoulders and the curator began to slide down the door. Bruce caught him and slowly pulled him over to the bed. "I'm sorry," Bruce apologized softly.

"You need to stop doing that," John mumbled softly. He had almost let Scarecrow erupt from the depths of his soul when he'd been slammed against the door in such an abrasive attack.

Bruce was disgusted with himself and he could do nothing more than agree with John. "You're not well…"

"Thanks to you," John blamed him. "I may be sore, but more than able to take care of myself. Thank you very much."

Bruce sighed, he'd let his temper get the best of him again. No one else brought it out of him so suddenly like John Cuthbert did. "That's exactly why you should stay here for the night."

"I don't need to," John insisted. "I can't even afford it."

"I'll pay for it," Bruce offered. He knew it was stupid as well as fruitless to offer a man like John money. The man would take the gesture offensively and another fight would spark… it was the only way their relationship seemed to move.

But the spark that glinted in John's dulled eyes was something Bruce recognized… although he couldn't figure out where. He'd mulled over everything about John Cuthbert and found no one that matched the enigmatic anger that John supplied whenever they met.

"No," John's answer was final. "Where in the hell did they put my clothes anyway?"

Bruce knew it was a losing battle and walked over to the door and opened it. He raised an eyebrow at the people crowding around the door. "He'd like his clothes back now."

A blushing nurse nodded and ran for the nurse's desk.

"At least let me take you home," Bruce spluttered. His expression darkened at John's laughing. "What is so funny?"

"Do you have any idea how far Clarence is from here?" John asked his voice slightly higher than usual as he was trying to convey the big picture to Bruce.

"You mean your going _home_," Bruce realized.

"What home did you think I was talking about?"

"You're hotel room," Bruce admitted. The man raised a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed at the ache that was there. His time as Batman that night had left his muscles a little stiff and raw.

John began babbling… "That's absurd. Why would I be going back to that tiny hotel room? I have work to attend to at home anyway. I don't like Gotha, never did, it dirty and the people here are less than tantalizing… so selfish and uncaring towards everyone else…"

"You lived here?"

John froze again and regret soared through him. "When I was younger."

"I never saw that in your records…"

"Researching my life?" John asked stiffly.

It was Bruce's turn to freeze. "Only out of curiosity."

The two glared at each other for another moment before there was a hesitant knock at the door.

"Come in," the two shouted in unison.

The nurse was back and she held a clear bag with John's familiar tux inside. Bruce ripped it from her hands and sent her from the room with a swift roll of his hand.

Bruce threw the bag fast and hard, catching John in the stomach. "I'll be waiting outside. If we hurry you will be home before sun-up."

John stared with his mouth agape as Bruce Wayne stormed from his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

It would definitely be a long ride home.

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TBC... 


	5. Unpleasant Drive Home

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**I'm back once again!**

**All of my reviewers rock! Your encouragement keeps the wheels in my head and fingertips racing, so thank you for the support and hope this chapter hits the spot as Bruce Wayne comes a little closer to recognizing Johnny Cuthbert...**

**Enjoy:**

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They'd stopped off at the hotel first to gather up the rest of John's belongings, getting a few odd glances from other guests as they recognized the billionaire that hung behind the smaller museum curator like a bodyguard of all things.

The ride was uncomfortable for John, especially with how fast and recklessly Bruce was tearing down the roads of Gotham.

"I didn't survive being robbed at that god awful fundraiser to die here in this highly overrated death trap!"

Bruce rolled his eyes and slammed his foot on the brake causing the 200,000 dollar car to jerk abruptly and the tires to send up smoke at the sudden halt. His eyes moved back over to John whose hands were braced against the dashboard, with his bangs hanging across his eyes.

The curator looked so familiar like that, but his mind couldn't wrap around why or who he resembled. Instead he shook that strange feeling from his shoulders and flashed one of his bright grins. "Better?" he spat sarcastically at the passenger.

Maybe Bruce would have to start digging deeper, reconnect with some old friends who can follow the man around…

"Much," John sneered back and folded his arms over his chest and turned his head towards the window. "You have enough money, maybe you should think about hiring a driver who can actually navigate the roads without almost killing people."

Bruce exhaled and grinned. "If you had the opportunity to do this, in this car, you would."

"No I would not, because I wouldn't purchase such a ridiculously priced vehicle to parade around for all the less fortunate to see. I would buy a car that is sturdy and worth the amount of money it was bought for."

A snort sounded from Bruce. "Of course you would, you're Mister Self-Righteous."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind. Why do you hate me so much?"

John turned his head back to Bruce who was staring out the window, it was beginning to rain. His body was tense, he obviously could not share the secret of their past to the man that could easily destroy him and send him back to Arkham. "I don't hate you; I just don't like you very much."

Bruce let out a low chuckle and spared a glance at the stubborn man sitting next to him. "Why did you leave Gotham?"

John froze, clearly misreading the question. "I don't know what you're…"

"When you were a child, why did you leave? Did your parents make you or…"

John glared and spoke angrily, "That is none of your business Mr. Wayne."

Silence cascaded throughout the car again when neither spoke again.

The curator became lost in his thoughts again. Bruce Wayne just wanted to rip his thoughts from him and use them to further destroy the progress he'd made at taking apart the remnants of Scarecrow hidden deep inside. The Bat was very clever after all and it annoyed him that actually wanted to tell the billionaire. He ached for someone to speak to, it had been so long maybe he could just…

"Gotham's a wicked place Mr. Wayne," John muttered softly.

The curator watched the muscle jump in the driver's jaw. "It won't be forever."

It was John's turn to roll his eyes. "You're definitely an optimist Mr. Wayne. I don't ever remember feeling safe or cared for or even feeling normal while living in Gotham. I spent my days going unnoticed until one night…"

Bruce was staring intently at him now, his eyes no longer caring for the worsening conditions of the road outside as they continued their path to Clarence. After all, the look on Johnny Cuthbert's face told Bruce that he was fighting to hold something back, a memory that seemed to haunt him.

"Were you mugged or something? That's definitely not a reason to hate Gotham, I mean, you could get mugged anywhere." Bruce then remembered his own parents, but their mugging had been something much more than just an average run-of-the-mill mugging.

A rare smiled pulled at John's lips. "Something like that, but this one stuck." John shivered and shook the memory away.

"We're almost there," Bruce spoke when the silence had settled again.

John looked up and saw a sign the read 'Welcome to Clarence' wafting past them, drenched in the rain that cascaded down from the heavens. "I guess you were being serious when you told me this car was quite fast."

Bruce nodded and leaned over for a moment, turning up the heat when he saw John shiver. His eyes then once again trailed back to the rain slicked road.

It didn't take long before John's eyelids drifted down until they met his pale and bruised cheeks. The warmth was comfortable and made his bones ache with a sleepiness that he couldn't shake. He was snoring softly within moments and Bruce kept driving.

It was an incessant flicking that woke him a while later.

"Stop flicking me," John slurred as he tried to lift his suddenly heavy hand to push away the offender.

"You should have stayed in the hospital you stubborn man," the deep voice mumbled. John recognized it as belonging to Bruce Wayne.

The curator was far too tired and weary to lash out at the cocky rich man and replied by simply shrugging.

"We're here," the words were clipped and annoyed.

John peeled his eyelids back and looked out his window to see his home standing out against the onslaught of water. He could even still see the green vines that wound themselves up the dark stone of his residence.

The curator leaned down and grabbed his beat up suitcase, shivering as a flash of light and boom of thunder disrupted the rhythm of the rain splats. "Thank you Mr. Wayne."

Bruce shrugged and nodded, "Even rich bastards have their moments."

John snorted and pushed open the car door. "I guess they do." He pushed the door closed and walked up the brick path that led to his front door. Pausing for a moment he realized Bruce was still waiting, and he hurried to unlock the door with the key he'd pulled from his soaked jacket pocket.

Once inside he hurried to shut and lock the door then reached to flip on the switch to the light. To his dismay, nothing happened. "Wonderful," he spoke to himself concluding that the storm had conveniently knocked out the power.

He stumbled into the kitchen, shaking off the drops of water that soaked him to the bone, in hopes of finding a match to light the candle in the entryway. With a hand in the drawer his search continued until his hand connected with something sharp and he withdrew it quickly with a curse.

John turned quickly to find a towel to staunch the wound and was surprised to walk into something hard. In his panic he allowed the ungodly strength of his second personality take control and slam the flesh and bones into the nearby door, sending him and the trespasser onto the ground.

The trespasser seemed stunned but quickly regained stability and had Jonathon pinned to the ground with his arm bent painfully behind his back.

"Calm down, it's just me."

John fought down the Scarecrow than wanted to erupt forth in battle and remained prone on the floor. It was the realization of familiarity that had him drowning out his alarm. He was released and flipped over onto his back where he stared into the eyes of Bruce Wayne… again.

"What the hell were you thinking?" John spat angrily, getting to his feet. "Breaking and entering is illegal, I could have you arrested."

Bruce held his hands up in a placating manner. "Your lights never came on, I thought you'd passed out on your way in, I came in to make sure you hadn't fallen into a coma!"

"The power is out. The lights don't come on without electricity you fool," John heaved, leaning over and placing his open palms on his bent knees to try and regain his breath and bearings.

The curator was beginning to feel unwell again, exhausted by the events of the past few days. His alter ego had almost managed to resurface, and in front of the Batman none the less. He may be a little unhinged but he was only human and his body was feeling the effects of the shock, both physical and mental.

For the second time that day, he couldn't seem to catch his breath and the floor rushed up to meet him as his mind and consciousness wavered.

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TBC...

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